


And They Whirl And They Twirl And They Tango

by Duck_Life



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Dancing, Gen, Multi, Weddings, also beyonce, lots of references to x-men in the nineties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3803983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of moments that totally took place at Scott and Jean's wedding. Heavily inspired by X-Men (2nd Series) # 30 and also the Summers/Grey Wedding Album.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And They Whirl And They Twirl And They Tango

Approaching the band, Rachel takes another sip of her rum and Coke, eternally grateful for the open bar. Really, she loves the bride and groom, really, she’s happy for them, but it’s really, _really_ awkward being a guest at your parents’ wedding. “Hey,” she calls up to Lila, “you guys know anything by Beyoncé?” For her efforts, she gets only a confused stare. “Uh. Destiny’s Child? Nothing?” Yep. Nothing. “Time travel sucks,” she mutters darkly, huffing away from the stage when she overhears—telepathically—someone getting a song stuck in their head.

_He popped all my buttons and he ripped my blouse._

Rachel spins around, searching, because no one _—no one_ —knows that song. Whoever’s thinking it can’t remember the next line, because he repeats the one he knows again in his head. _Popped all my buttons and he ripped my blouse._

And then she spots him, the big guy with white hair leaning uncomfortably against a wall, simultaneously the most and least likely to know _any_ of the lyrics to “Partition.” Nathan.

Smirking, she veers toward him and adds, “ _He Monica Lewinsky’d all over my gown_ ,” as a means of saying hello. “Hey, bro.”

“Uh. Hi,” he says with a bemused smile. “Does anyone here even know about Monica Lewinsky yet?”

“Not yet,” she says, joining Cable against the wall. “I gotta say, the nineties feel kinda pointless without _that_ whole debacle clogging up the news.”

“Mm,” he agrees, glancing around the room at the newlyweds, the dancers, the band. “This is weird, right? This is weird.”

“So weird.” She sips her rum and Coke as the band starts up something by Eric Clapton. “I mean, probably less weird for _you_. For me, it just feels like a really, really late shotgun wedding.” He laughs at that, and even though the two of them have barely _ever_ talked, it’s nice having someone who knows what’s coming, someone who remembers the things that she remembers. “Hey, so I’ve been meaning to ask you. What’s the _hardest_ thing to keep a secret? Besides, you know. Death and Sentinels and yada yada yada.”

Nathan Summers thinks about it for a moment before answering, “Who becomes President.”

“What, like Obama?”

“Among others,” he says, with a wink that translates roughly to _I know more than you do_. “What about you?”

“ _Star Wars_ prequels,” she says immediately, and when he laughs again it’s almost like they’re just ordinary siblings.

* * *

At a table across the room, Bobby’s on his way to tipsy with yet another glass of champagne in his hand and Bishop’s making a variety of faces at the hors d’oeuvres he insists on trying. “What’s this?” he asks, pointing to something green on his plate.

Bobby ignores him. “You’re from the future, right? Tell me. They stay together?” He gestures vaguely across the room to Scott and Jean.

“I can’t say.”

“They have to,” Bobby says, leaning so far back in his chair that Bishop feels like he might need to put a hand out to keep the other man from toppling backward. “They _have to_ , right?”

“I can’t say,” he repeats.

“Okay but I feel like if they _did_ stay together, you would just _say_ so,” Bobby says, making up with shrewdness for what he lacks in sobriety.

Instead of answering, Bishop jams the mysterious green food in his mouth. When he finishes chewing, Bobby’s still glaring at him expectantly so he says, “Do you want to dance?”

“What?”

“Do you want to dance? With me?”

So apparently, being from the future means Lucas Bishop _does_ know more than he lets on. But what the hell, Bobby reasons, he’s having fun and Bish is grinning at him and if anyone calls him out on it he can always say they’re slow-dancing as a joke. “Yeah,” he answers, setting his glass on the table. “Yeah, I do.”

* * *

Because Jubilee insisted that she dance on Hank’s “weird-ass giant Muppet feet,” he’s currently sweeping her across the dance floor to “Groove Is in the Heart.”

“Hey, do you think Jean and Scott will want fireworks tonight?” she says, craning her neck up to look at him.

“NO.”

“But-”

“N. O.”

“Ugh,” she says, but drops the subject. “You know, I noticed that Trish Tilby isn’t here tonight.”

“Your observational skills are a force to be reckoned with,” he notes. “She was busy.”

“Ohh, okay,” she says, not buying it. “Because I’ve been thinking. If I were a boring full-grown adult and _I_ didn’t want my boyfriend of several years to start thinking about getting married, I definitely would make up an excuse to get out of going to a wedding with him.”

Hank sighs, slowing down a little— less because of a change in the rhythm and more because he’s tired. Tired of everything, really, but mostly tired of hearing about how much his friends don’t like Trish. And maybe… maybe he’s beginning to grow tired of having to defend her, tired of having to explain why she couldn’t be somewhere, tired of seeing her spill all their secrets on the news. Maybe he’s tired of Trish.

“Jubilation, maybe you should be focusing less on learning how to use your powers and more on learning when to keep your mouth shut.”

It bounces off of her, as everything does. “Maybe _you_ should learn when to keep your eyes open, Hankster.”

* * *

Kitty is kind of drunk.

To be perfectly honest, there’s no “kind of” about it, a fact Kurt’s delighting in as he ’ports her three times around the room. “Stop, _stop_ ,” she gasps, out of breath, but it’s partly from laughing. He relents, standing still and giving her a chance to get her bearings. “You _asshole_.”

“You know you love me,” he says, swaying slightly to the music. His devilish grin subsides for a moment, though, and he asks, “Seriously, though, you’re not going to be sick, right?”

“Would serve you right if I threw up all over your fancy suit,” she mutters, but there’s no real malice in it. Her arms twined up around his neck, she dances with him for a while. The heels are killing her feet and the loud band is beginning to give her a headache, but for just a few moments everything is fine.

Leaning up to whisper in one of his elfin ears, she says, “Thanks for distracting me,” because it’s a fantastic night but it’s the end of a really shitty year. With Illyana dead and Peter gone, there haven’t been too many reasons for Kitty to celebrate. Kurt messing with her makes it seem almost, _almost_ like everything’s just the same as it always has been.

“Anytime, _Fräulein_ ,” he says into her hair.

* * *

On the other side of the dancefloor, Rogue and Gambit have invaded each other’s personal space so thoroughly that several of the guests keep glancing over to make sure that Remy’s not unconscious, or worse.

“Well,” Remy says, leading her lithely across the floor, “kinda feel like we need to have a little talk.” He’s grinning.

“Mm? ’Bout what?”

“We caught de stuff,” he points out, hand tightening on her hip. “The bouquet, and… and the garter. You know what that _means_ , chère.”

“Yeah, Ah do,” she says, and she looks terrified but the tiniest bit pleased. “But-”

“ _Ohhh_ , I’m not sayin’ we’re _ready_ ,” he clarifies, and they both laugh. “Just. You know. Think we might be the _next_ ones to have one of these fancy parties.”

They turn, moving to the music. “Might be nice.”

“You want I should steal you a ring?” Rogue’s eyebrow shoots up. “Kidding.”

As they dance, as they consider the future, a thought that’s always nibbling at the edges of Rogue’s consciousness begins to gnaw. “Remy,” she says carefully, her gloved hands feeling stiff and awkward around his neck, “you sure you wanna marry a girl you can’t even touch?”

At that, he dips her to the floor, his mouth coming dangerously close to hers. “I want to always be the man dancing with the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“Don’t let the bride hear that,” she chastises, but there are soft fluttery things making themselves known in her chest. When they straighten up, she clears her throat. “Ah’m not sayin’ no,” she tells him, needing to be clear. “But Ah _am_ sayin’... not yet.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he promises. And he might even mean it. For now, at least, his hands on her feel like the most solid things in the world.

* * *

“ _Stellar_ job on the weather, ’Roro,” Warren informs her, stepping outside for a moment to get some fresh air and enjoy his cake away from the throng. Ororo’s looking up at the sky as it slowly fades from blue to purple. “I gotta say, it was a challenge to keep from taking off and enjoying this up in the air.”

“I’m sure Scott and Jean appreciate you remaining grounded,” she says, offering a simpering smile. “As for the weather… thank you. I just did what I could to make everything about today perfect.”

“Well… it worked,” he says, taking a bite of cake and chewing thoughtfully. “Okay. Is it wrong that I am just _waiting_ for something bad to happen?”

Ororo immediately drops her serene façade. “Honestly? I only came out here because I could swear I saw the Juggernaut in those bushes,” she says, pointing to what is clearly a shadow. “You are not the only paranoid one, Angel, trust me.”

“Jeez. I hope the happy couple isn’t this freaked.”

“I don’t know about Jean,” she says, “but I know for a fact that Scott programmed a Danger Room scenario in which the ceremony is attacked by Sentinels.”

Warren laughs. “No wedding like an X-men wedding,” he sighs, offering Storm his fork.

* * *

Seated around one of the tables, Jean and Betsy are watching Alex Summers dancing with Jean’s niece Gailyn and loving every adorable minute of it. When Scott comes up from behind them and puts his arms around his bride’s shoulders, Jean opens her mouth to speak but hiccups instead.

“Oh, look, Betsy,” she says, recovering, “it’s my husband. Hello, husband.”

“Hello, wife,” he says with a dopey grin, and Betsy rolls her eyes so hard they’re liable to fall right out of her head. Again.

“Yeah, that’s already gotten old,” she lets them know, but they ignore her as Jean leans her head back to kiss Scott. The music swells and the sound of chattering voices surround them and they’re both a little drunk and a lot in love.

“Jean?” Scott asks.

“Yes, dear?”

“I love you,” he says, “of course. But. Uh. While I’m doing things like, I don’t know, dancing with your mother or having a conversation with Charles, could you… maybe… _not_ telepathically inundate me with, ah, ‘previews’ of tonight?” His face goes as red as his glasses, and Betsy erupts in giggles.

Jean looks a little sheepish but not at all regretful. “Ooooops,” she says, catching his mouth with hers again. “I’m sorry, honey, you just look so sexy in that tux. It was an accident. Honest.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he says, looking like he’s going to kiss her again but thrown off balance when Jean stands up suddenly.

“They’re playing ‘Muskrat Love,’” she announces, dragging him away. “I want to dance to ‘Muskrat Love.’”

And so, with Lila Cheney crooning on about Muskrat Suzie and Muskrat Sam, the night begins winding to a close.

Tomorrow, more than half of them will be hungover. Scott and Jean’s honeymoon won’t go at all as planned, and Rogue and Remy maybe won’t ever get married, and Kitty Pryde still has losses to face in the coming years.

But tonight? Tonight’s a good night. And they don’t get too many of those, so they might as well enjoy it.


End file.
